Just a Reg'lar Ghost Story
by bandnerd21
Summary: Routine haunting. Get in, figure out what the spirit is, burn the bones. Until the spirit doesn't just fight back... It has some fun. Will turn into a crack fic by about chapter 3. Rated T because of obvious reasons.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, this popped into my head while I was on the way home from Disney World today. Yeah, you heard right, Disney World. There was a Mickey and Friends short playing about ghost hunting, and this popped into my head. I kind of see this as being set somewhere in the middle of season 3. Enjoy my first Supernatural fanfiction!

Disclaimer: Do not own

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Dean closed his eyes. No case, no worries... On some level, he knew that it meant a bigger storm was brewing, but for now, he was reveling in his brief vacation. They just wrapped up their last case five days ago, and the supernatural world seemed to be taking a nap. No demonic omens, no mysterious deaths..._So this is what it's like to have a normal life_, Dean mused. He could see why Sam had been so desperate to have one. He was just about to drift off. A few more seconds, and he would be in the dream world... Until Sam threw himself down next to him with the laptop in tow.

"Think I found a new case." He pulled up a news website from Nowheresville, Oklahoma. Dean slowly opened his eyes.

"Fan-freaking-tastic. What is it?"

"Guthrie, Oklahoma. The usual. Kids go into a haunted house, never come out."

Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "All right, then. Vacation's over."

Sam ran to the nearest store to restock on salt and snacks while Dean, for once, did research. He lost the game of rock, paper, scissors. When Sam came back, Dean looked up from the laptop.

"So, fun facts. Guthrie, pretty small town, exactly 66.6 miles from the nearest large city, Prague."

"That's probably just a coincidence, Dean."

"Are there ever coincidences in our line of work?"

"I suppose not... I guess we could look into Prague while—"

"_Not _to mention…" Dean looked up from the laptop, an expression of manic joy on his face. Sam wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a bad sign.

"What is it?"

"Prague has a kolache festival," Dean stated with a broad grin.

"Dude, do you even know what kolaches are?"

"Well... They're like little pies, aren't they?"

Sam shook his head. "They're a Polish pastry."

"So, a mini pie."

"Sure, Dean. Mini pies," Sam conceded with a condescending grin. "So you don't want to look into Prague because of a suspicious distance. You want to look into "mini pies.""

"Umm… Yeah, pretty much.

"Speaking of pies, did you remember the pie this time?"

"I think we better go. This case is a couple days' drive, and if you want to make it in time for the kolache festival—"

"You forgot the pie, didn't you?"

"They were out of pie. And I didn't want to get the face you gave me when I brought back cake instead."

"What face?"

"_That_ face," Sam said, gesturing to his brother's face. Dean went into the bathroom to look in the mirror, and then turned back to Sam.

"That's my normal face!"

"No, that's your "you've just kicked my metaphorical puppy" face. There's a difference."

"I ask you for one thing, Sammy..."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, and they were out of it. Come on, let's get going."

Dean sighed lightly and snapped the laptop shut before following Sam to the car. About ten hours later, a little over a quarter of the way to Guthrie, Dean pulled through McDonald's for an apple pie bar because "fake pie is better than no pie, and, since his brother can never seem to remember, he had to get his own." Sam just sighed and told him to order a burger while he was at it.

Two hours later, Dean turned the radio all the way up. Asia was playing. He looked at Sam with a wry grin when the younger man turned the volume to near silence.

"Come on, Sammy. You love Asia, and you know it."

"No, I don't, and no, I don't."

"Well, someone has his panties in a twist."

"I just think it's been a little too quiet. I mean, hell opens up, lets all kind of craptastic monsters out, and then we have nothing for a week. Isn't that a little suspicious to you?"

"Just enjoy the fact that it is quiet. There's nothing we can do, short of snatching a demon and asking him why he's not destroying every living thing that comes his way."

"Even the demons seem to have cleared out, though. There haven't even been any omens."

"And thank God for that. Jut focus on this case. Nice little ghosty mess to clean up, get your mind off hell."

"I'm just worried it's the calm before the storm." Sam grimaced before burrowing into his seat.

"Just be glad the storm isn't here yet, eh?" Dean decided against letting his little brother know he was just as worried.

Sam nodded and reclined the seat a little.

"What, taking a nap already?"

"It's either that or listen to Asia for the next twenty-eight hours."

Dean smirked and turned the volume back up. "Just me and you, baby," he said to the impala and pushed the speed up to eighty.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey e'erybody! I'm back! Sorry it took so long. I tried and failed to research the kolache festival, so I'm going by my best guess. Enjoy!

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Disclaimer: I don't own. I wouldn't be able to tear out hearts as often or well as the writers.

schedule due to a certain hunter's erratic driving, Dean woke Sam up.

"Couple hours away. FBI or Homeland?"

"FBI's probably the safest bet."

Dean nodded. "So this place used to be a children's home before it got refurbished and sold to the highest bidder. Guy who lives there now's a recluse. Poor bastard probably doesn't even know that kids sneak into his basement."

"Vengeful spirit?"

"From the looks of it."

"Any idea who it is?"

"Nope. Apparently anything having to do with that place are kept on file in the local library and there only. And guess whose turn it is to do research."

"And what exactly are you going to do?"

"Well, as today's the first Saturday of May, that means it's the Kolache Festival."

"So, you get to stuff your face while I'm stuck looking up dead people?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Great."

"Have fun sunshine," Dean smiled and pulled up in front of the library.

Sam climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. Dean sped off cackling as Sam sprinted up the marble steps of the library. He strolled through the door and flashed his badge at the librarian. "We're looking into the recent disappearances. Any chance I could have a look at the records for the Mason's Children's Home?"

The graying woman smiled at him. "Of course, dear." She led him through a maze of books with yellowing pages. "Most of the records have been moved to the county college for students' thesis papers and the like, but you should find everything you need here. Let me know if you need anything else." Sam nodded, and the woman scurried away. He carried one of the boxes to a nearby table, wiped the dust off, and set to work.

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Alone until he made it to Prague, Dean danced along to the Black Sabbath song that was forcing its way out of the impala's speakers. He'd be to his precious mini pies in less than an hour, half an hour if he really floored it. Dean hummed along to the song happily and did just that.

Forty-five minutes later, Dean pulled into the field that was being used as a parking lot for the festival. People in costume walked past him, laughing and joking. One of the girls was dressed in weird European clothes. Dean shot her a smile, and she rolled her eyes, walking faster. He shrugged and wandered under the big sign that read "Traditions Honored, Customs Shares." He snorted at the cheesy name and went to seek out kolaches. No more than a few steps away from the tent where the delicious smell was coming from, his phone rang with Sam's alias registering on the caller ID.

"Great timing, Sam. Really."

"Didn't get your mini pies, huh?"

"No. No I didn't. They're right here, though!"

"Just get some to go and meet me back at the library. Figured out who our not-so-friendly ghost is."

"Gonna tell me now or leave me hanging?" Dean walked into the tent where they were selling the delicious pastries and bought eight kolaches while Sam was talking.

"A Ms. Viccino was the nurse back in 1934. Husband diedof mysterious causes shortly before she committed suicide by jumping off the bell tower. They also suspect that she had something to do with the deaths of many of the children she was in charge of caring for."

Dean climbed into the impala and set the bag of kolaches on the seat next to him. "All right. Head to the house when I get back?"

"That might pose a problem. Due to all the break ins in the past couple weeks, the old man hired private security. Also, the kids aren't breaking into his basement, they're breaking into the _garden_."

"Why is the ghost chilling in the garden?"

"Apparently, it's where the infirmary was. A family bought the house, knocked down a few of the wings during the refurbishing. And they put a garden where the infirmary was."

"Great. Any way to say the FBI has a reason to search the garden?"

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Well, that's it for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you soon! Reviews are welcomed with virtual cookies.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I wish I could say I have a good reason as to why this took me so long... But I don't. Please enjoy this chapter, and please review. It'd make my day :)

disclaimer: I don't own these lovely men or their stories.

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Dean squealed to a stop in front of the library as Sam walked into the daylight. He ran down the steps, taking them two at a time, a file under his arm. Sam climbed in, slammed the door, and the brothers sped off to yet another seedy hotel. Dean checked them in under the name "Garfunkel," and soon they were seated at a table in their dilapidated hotel room, papers from the file Sam had spread across the tabletop. It was the personal file for Mrs. Viccino. Dean flipped through some of the papers, eyebrows climbing higher and higher on his face.

"This Viccino chick was one really cracked nut." He shoved a kolache whole into his mouth and smiled in satisfaction. Sam tried and failed to hide a chuckle. Dean stuffed his hand into the bag, pulling a cookie out and offered it to his brother. "Want one," he asked, half the cookie still in his mouth.

"No, thanks. I'm fine," Sam answered, a giant grin plastered on his face.

"Good," Dean said, throwing the kolache in his mouth.

Sam shook his head. _Time to get back on topic... Maybe. "Anyways, _Says the kids she might've killed began suffering from mental health issues shortly before they died or disappeared."

"So she played with her food before she ate it. Sick bastard." Dean threw down the file. He swallowed the kolaches in his mouth. "Man these are good! o think we should pick up more for the road.

"Ready to check out the house?"

Sam nodded and they once again climbed into the impala, heading to the old mansion. They approached the door, which was adorned with an ugly brass door knocker, and Sam knocked. An stooped man with a shock of white hair answered the door as Sam and Dean flashed their badges.

"Mr. Balay? I'm Agent Garfunkel, this is Agent Anderson. Mind if we ask you a few questions about the recent disappearances?"

Balay stepped aside, allowing Sam and Dean into his house. They sat in pastel green couches around a dark oak table. A woman came over and poured tea in three china cups.

Dean took a sip, grimaced at the taste a bit-if it wasn't alcohol or coffee, it wasn't good in his book-and cleared his throat. "Mr. Balay, we've been told that the teenagers who are going missing were last seen going into your garden. Is this true?"

"My garden? Why on earth would those children come into my garden?"

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. This guy really was a recluse if he didn't know people were going into and disappearing from his back yard.

Sam spoke up, "Before you bought the place, it was the Mason's Children's Home. Rumor is that it's haunted, so the kids'll go in and see if they can last the night. They're reported missing the next day."

Balay's expression proved Dean's initial thought: This interview was going to take a hell of a long time.

After about an hour, they got a little information out of the old man. When they went upstairs, the EVP As Dean drove, Sam flipped through his notes.

"Strange noises at night, things moving on their own, EVP going nuts, sounds more and more like vengeful spirit."

"How do we find out who this bitch is?"

"Apparently, the only records were kept in the basement at the home."

"Did the old man leave the basement standing?"

"One way to find out."


End file.
